What hits you first is the colour – or more accurately, the lack of it. The entire 40-capacity interior bedazzles in cream-white, set off sumptuously by chandeliers whose orange filaments flicker to a smooth funk, disco and R&B soundtrack. The silver-framed menu hardly aspires to Néktar-esque experimentation – it’s familiar cocktails, bottled beer and pizza, essentially – so after brisk perusal over the cork-effect bar I requested the more adventurous Sakae, or a ‘B.F. Mojito’. It was a fruitless plea in more ways than one. ‘Sir, we have no berries,’ smiled mixologist Abel.

A sweat-fest of this magnitude screams ‘Refill!’, so I sucked on crushed ice before plunging into what Abel calls a ‘condensed’ cocktail, the Dawa (‘magic potion’ in Swahili). Almost dessert wine-like in its sweetness, this chick-drink’s bold mélange (honey, lime, vodka in excelsis) trampled my tastebuds into instant submission. Brain cells blitzed, it was time to enjoy the view from the white-leather sofa. Speakeasy had better up its game; DC’s monochrome motif is immaculately executed, right down to bartenders’ threads and medieval chair-back portraits. Swish, for sure, yet winningly informal – even toilet washbasins are chatup-inducingly unisex.

Leong’s got this area licked. In our ultra-critical city, the fact that moneyed hedonists are queuing up to sing its praises tells its own story (just check our website). Canoodling couples, office ravers, hen-nighters, preening fashionistas: if you know a cooler, friendlier venue than this, we’ve not been. Jonathan Evans